


Even After a Millenium

by soothe_the_beast



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: F/F, M/M, through the ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soothe_the_beast/pseuds/soothe_the_beast
Summary: A continuation of the Nicky and Joe origin story: TetheredThis is Nicky and Joe through the ages. Moments, big and small, sad and funny, tedious and monumental.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 15
Kudos: 142





	1. April 1100 CE, Crete (Birthdays)

**Author's Note:**

> For a bit (or more) of backstory, also check out the original tale Tethered here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293990/chapters/64018807

Four immortals stood together on the beach, dripping sea onto the sand. Behind them, floated the holk that carried them here, bobbing along the surf, anchored a few hundred cubits from the rocky shore. Ahead sat a beaten down stone dwelling, overrun with vines and beach grass. 

“I said we were away too long,” Quynh spoke to Andromache in a sanctimonious tone. 

“You did,” Andromache agreed flatly. “I suppose we shouldn’t have spent all that time helping the Pechenegs settle away from Komnenos. I’m sure they would have been fine.” 

Quynh sighed.

“Point taken,” she said.

As they walked closer to the hovel, Andromache procured her labrys and whacked away at the vines impeding their approach to the door.

Nicolò and Yusuf each unsheathed their own blades to help her. Quynh stood back and eyed the dwelling, with a contented smile. 

“This is your home?” Nicolò asked curiously. 

“Not exactly,” Andromache said, reaching through the vegetation for the doorknob, “Not in any true definition of home anyway.”

She shouldered the door forward and entered inside. The other three followed suit. 

“What do you mean?” Nicolò probed. 

“Well,” Andromache continued, “in that neither of us come from this island. We don’t get to spend very much time here. And we don’t own the place.”

“But it’s our home away from home,” Quynh explained, “if we had a home to be away from.”

“I always felt that home was wherever you’re with family,” Yusuf said, in his perfectly synthesizing, perfectly sanguine Yusuf way. 

Nicolò’s lips quirked involuntarily into the smile he wore whenever Yusuf spoke these days. Both women were hard pressed not to match the expression. This honeymoon stage they were in was infectious. As was Yusuf’s buoyancy and Nicolò’s soulfulness. 

“Well…” Andromache cast a glance at Quynh and they shared a grin, “maybe it is home then.”

The moon rose full that evening, and at Nicolò’s behest, they dined outside by a fire on the beach, remaining there long after they had filled their bellies. It reminded him of the days in the beginning with Yusuf in the holy land, getting to know each other by the fire. Now they were getting to know Quynh and Andromache, and even better yet, Yusuf’s body was no longer woefully across the fire, but pressed up against his own, cradling him from behind, one hand gently draped over his lap, the other intertwined with Nicolò’s own. 

“What day is it?” Yusuf asked to no one in particular. 

“It’s Wednesday.” Quynh answered. 

“No,” Yusuf squinted. “The date.”

“Twenty-five April,” Nicolò answered him, leaning back into his chest. 

He turned his head so that he could look at Yusuf, whose eyes darted back and forth as if he were making complicated calculations in his head. 

“It is the day of my birth,” he said quietly, with a smile.

“Today?” Nicolò sat up straight and turned to face his love. 

“Jumafa Al-Thani, 13” he nodded. 

Nicolò’s mind exploded. Life had been so extraordinary for the past year, for so many reasons. Something as custumary as a birthday seemed trivial in juxtaposition.   
  
“Blessings, Yusuf,” Quynh said happily. 

Nicolò continued to stare at him, mouth agape. He knew more about the man, body and soul, than he thought he would ever understand in any other human being, and yet there was still so much he didn’t know about him. He was ashamed he had not ever thought to ask before. 

“We must celebrate you,” he said emphatically.

“This is enough,” Yusuf insisted. “This is more than I could dream.”

He plated a kiss on Nicolò’s cheek. Nicolò was still unsettled. 

“How old are you?” Andromache asked, curiously. 

“Thirty-five, by my calendar,” Yusuf answered. He looked at Nicolò. “By yours, I think a little less.”

“And how old are you, Nicolò?” Quynh asked. 

Nicolò turned to look sharply at Andromache and Quynh. 

“Thirty.”

Yusuf responded to this information with a light hmph and a smile. 

“A babe,” Quynh said, grinning. “When is your birthday?” 

“Twenty-four, August,” he answered, now turning back to Yusuf.

“You had a birthday just after we met,” Yusuf ascertained. 

“Only very just,” Nicolò admitted. “We were hardly finished killing one another.”

“Well we must celebrate _you_ then,” Yusuf proclaimed. 

Nicolò’s face hardened. 

“How does that make sense?”

“Hey, if you two want to go celebrate each other,” Andromache interrupted, “by all means, don’t stay here on our account.” 

Yusuf smirked at her. Nicolò’s face flushed. 

“When is your birthday, Andromache?” Yusuf asked. 

“Do you really think she remembers that?” Quynh asked him. She linked her arm under Andromache’s and leaned into her lovingly. “We were both born in winter. That’s all we really know. And now we celebrate at the solstice together.”

“How do you celebrate a new year of life in your culture, Yusuf?” Andromache asked curiously. 

“We don’t really,” he admitted. “Not as adults. It’s mostly just a reflective day. Thinking back on the events that led you here.”

He stole a glance at Nicolò and squeezed his hand. 

“And how was your year?” The man asked him quietly. 

Yusuf considered the question. He looked down at their joined hands, and then up across the fire, before finally landing back on Nicolò’s piercing eyes. 

“I would say… world shattering,” he spoke quietly and looked only at Nicolò, “in every way I could ever have ever imagined, but never did.”

Across the fire, Andromache gazed their way softly while Quynh held her close. Nicolò kept his eyes fixed on Yusuf for a few more seconds before turning to the women.

“We will say goodnight now,” he said, standing, taking Yusuf’s hand and pulling him up. “I must go celebrate this man.”

He turned back to the cabin, tugging Yusuf, who allowed himself to be dragged inside, casting a happy smirk back to the girls as he went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my telling, Joe was born Jumafa Al-Thani 13, 458 in the Hijri calendar, which would be May 12, 1066 CE. 
> 
> On April 25, 1100 (which is also Jumafa Al-Thani 13, a full moon, and a Wednesday... why I spend so much time researching these things I do not know), he would be almost 34 years by the Gregorian calendar, but this would have been the year 493 in the Hijri calendar. So I am making an educated guess that this means Yusuf would count 35 years since his birth. (Feel free to correct me though!)
> 
> I don’t put a whole lot of stock into astrology myself, and I don’t think any of our immortals would either, but I still enjoyed toying with the idea of Joe being a Taurus and Nicky being a Virgo. It is said to be a pretty strong match, and their personalities seem to go well with these signs. 
> 
> Even though they don’t remember their birthdays, Andy is a Capricorn and Quynh is a Pisces.


	2. July 1100 CE, Crete (Ramadan)

“Are you sure about this?” Yusuf asked Nicolò, hovering the blade just under his neck. 

“Yes.” Nicolò responded with resolve, sitting upright on the stool in front of him. Yusuf dropped his hand and stood to his full height, looking down at him.

“It just seems a little drastic to remove it completely,” he insisted.

“Does it?” Nicolò asked him sardonically. 

“I see,” Yusuf nodded, waving the blade in show. “This is payback?”

“Of course not,” Nicolò replied, completely innocently. Yusuf was not buying it.

“Are you sure,” he asked, pointing to his own head with the blade, “because you cried when you saw me.”

Nicolò’s face hardened.

“I did not cry,” he affirmed. “I was simply startled.”

“Startled to tears.”

Nicolò paused looking up at his freshly shaven lover. The prominent dimples in his cheeks were an assault to the senses, a rather bewitching assault. He wasn’t exactly hating the new look, but he did resent the shock value Yusuf must have known he would be clobbering him with when he presented himself with an unexpected bare face the previous day. He deserved to have to subject himself to the same shock head on. 

But that wasn’t the real reason he was eager to follow Yusuf’s lead. The truth was it had been too long since he paid much attention to the unkempt thicket growing out of his face. The last he had given it any thought was over four months ago when they were still biding their time in Egypt. And even then, he had only been in the habit of keeping it trim, shaving down to the skin only once every few weeks. After the initial surprise at seeing Yusuf’s ravishingly youthful face, he realized how practical it was in this humid climate and was suddenly envious. 

“I can do it if you won’t,” Nicolò said reaching out for the razor blade. 

“No I’ll do it,” Yusuf insisted. 

It was not as though Nicolò couldn’t do it himself. But first of all, Yusuf had done such an expert job on himself, and second of all, they had a great deal of time to fill to take their minds off all the things they were abstaining from until sundown. It was the first day of Ramadan, and Nicolò had decided to join Yusuf in his fast, as a show of solidarity. So, to take up some time, he asked Yusuf if he would oblige in his charity by helping him shave off his beard. If Yusuf had reservations about it, well that was only a bonus. And it was clear to Nicolò that Yusuf had his reservations.

“Yusuf.”

Sighing, Yusuf leaned back over him and brought the blade back to Nicolo’s lathered face. He pouted slightly. He loved Nicolò’s face however it was presented, but these long, wild overgrown bristles were a mainstay of their time as a couple. It was silly, but he had grown quite attached to this wooly feral-looking version of Nicolò. Underneath the fluff of white, Nicolo’s lips quirked into a smirk and he reached up for Yusuf’s hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“We’re facing an eternity together, tesoro,” he said gently. “There will be other beards. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Yusuf muttered as Nicolò took back his hand. “Lift your chin.”

He lifted the blade to the right side of Nicolo’s face. Pausing once more, he let out a breath and let it glide from just under his cheek bone to his jaw line, revealing the acute curve of his mandible. Yusuf blinked a few times. Nicolò’s eyes met his briefly. 

He lifted the blade again, back to the same starting level, but just slightly closer to his nose. As he slid his hand downward, he uncovered the mole on his cheek. Nicolò closed his eyes for a second while Yusuf let out a slow, methodical breath. 

“Stop it,” Nicolò said, tersely, opening his eyes and boring them into Yusuf’s.

“You stop it,” Yusuf countered, shaking the foam off the blade and standing tall. 

“There are still nine hours until the sun sets,” Nicolò reminded him with warning.

“I am very aware what time it is, Nicolò,” Yusuf responded. He wiped the blade with a cloth and brought it once more to Nicolò’s face. This time, he let it slide beyond the curve of his jaw along his neck, as Nicolò gently cast his head back in submission. He blinked a few times and shifted his eyes to Yusuf’s once more. They were less than a palm’s length from one another. 

Yusuf stood and dropped the blade abruptly into the bowl on the table nearby. 

”That’s it, I can’t do this,” he said and turned suddenly to leave the room.

“What?” Nicolò said, staring at his back, completely bewildered. 

“I’m going for a swim,” Yusuf called back to him over his shoulder, but did not turn around. “I’ll see you at sundown.”

Nicolò continued to stare at the man as he disappeared out the door. His mouth, agape for a few seconds more, tilted slowly into a smirk before he found himself laughing out loud and shaking his head. Quynh walked in through the door Yusuf had just disappeared from, watching him curiously for a moment before turning to see Nicolò. She grinned at him.

“That’s a look.”  
  
He nodded to her, conveying sarcastic thanks, as he reached for the abandoned straight blade in the bowl, begrudgingly finishing the job on his own. 


	3. September 1227 CE, Zhongxing (Shellshock)

Nicolò sat on the stoop outside the entrance of a cliffside yaodong Quynh had brought them to, head supported in his left hand, massaging his ear with the other. Not far from him, Yusuf was standing at a well, tugging at the rope to bring the bucket back up from the bottom, his eyes fixed on Nicolò. 

He was covered in blood, and to be fair so was Yusuf, but Yusuf guessed only half of the blood on his clothes and skin belonged to him. Nicolò had done some damage today, of course, but whatever red had been there before his heroic dive was painted over in his own blood now. 

Yusuf carried the pail of water to Nicolo and took a seat beside him on the stoop. Nicolò sat up and turned to him when he sensed his presence. 

“Any change yet?” He asked gently, bringing a damp rag to Nicolò’s face. Nicolò didn’t answer. _I guess not_ , Yusuf thought. 

He wiped Nicolò’s brow, revealing the sun-kissed copper skin underneath. 

“You’re a mess,” Yusuf informed the man. Nicolò’s eyes, green today, reflecting the lush vegetation that surrounded them, held steady into Yusuf’s. 

“Are you mad at me?” He asked in a full throated and clumsy voice. 

Yusuf took his eyes away from Nicolò to wring out the rag, suppressing a smile he was sure Nicolò saw anyway. When he returned the rag to Nicolò’s face, he shook his head and spoke very clearly. 

“No.”

 _Yes_ , he was a little. But not nearly as mad as Nicolò would be at him if he had pulled the same stunt. So he supposed _no_ was close enough. 

“Hey.” Yusuf turned to see Quynh and Andromache approaching them. Andromache held a bundle of clothes. Quynh, a basket of food. “How’s he doing?”

Yusuf glanced back at Nicolò who was rubbing his other ear now. 

“The same,” he said. 

“I still can’t believe he dove on that thing,” Quynh handed Yusuf a few articles of clothing, which he accepted gratefully. 

“I don’t think he knew what it would do,” Andromache said in his defense.

“Oh, I think he had a good idea,” Yusuf argued. Nicolò squinted at all of them. 

“How long is this going to last?” Quynh asked, looking to Andromache.

“Why are you looking at me?” She responded. They all looked at Nicolò for a few moments.

“What is he doing now?” Quynh asked, staring perplexedly him. He was popping his jaw side to side, opening it as wide as it would go repeatedly.

“I don’t know.” Yusuf stood and waved his hand to Nicolò. “Come on Nico… NICO.” 

Nicolò Looked up at him briefly and then got to his feet, following his lead into the building. The world around him spun slightly, so he rested a hand lightly on Yusuf’s shoulder.

Yusuf turned to him and noticed the squint to his eyes. 

“Are you dizzy?” He asked, looping his arm through Nicolo’s. 

“I’m dizzy,” Nicolò blared in response. 

Yusuf chuckled slightly, and spoke in the same clear, slow cadence as before.

“Alright,” he said. “My ears work fine.”

He pointed to his ear and and then brought his finger to his lips to cue the man to lower his voice slightly. 

“Sorry,” Nicolò said sheepishly. 

Yusuf pulled him closer to his body as they walked together, and planted a loving kiss on his temple. 

He guided the man to the back room where he assisted him out of his bloodied clothes into fresh clean ones. He stole a moment to cast his eyes up and down his lover’s body. His skin was perfectly whole again, a vast improvement from what it had been a very short while ago. They had been in this city for a fortnight, assisting the Jins to fight off Genghis Kahn. 

They had managed to eke out a victory, and the excitement of this particular day culminated with Nicolò’s intrepid dive onto the thunder crash bomb that had rolled away from the fallen Jin captain. He managed to stop the explosion from reaching anyone else nearby, but at great cost to his own flesh and bones. 

It was one of the longest latent resurrections any of the other three could remember in recent memory, and when he finally came to he was deaf as a post. Twenty minutes later he could now hear a little, but nothing more than the high b flat that rang loud and true in his head. 

“There’s ringing,” he explained to Yusuf who was now changing into fresh clothes of his own. 

“Better than nothing,” his man replied. Nicolò just squinted at him. 

Yusuf put a gentle, affectionate hand to Nicolò cheek. Nicolò turned his head slightly to kiss Yusuf’s palm. 

“Food is ready.” Yusuf heard Andromache’s voice and turned to see her in the doorway. 

“Hungry?” He asked Nicolò, pointing to his mouth and then rubbing his stomach.

Nicolò nodded slightly but then winced.

“Ah!”

“Nicolò?”

Yusuf and Andromache stared at him as he recommenced rubbing at his ears and shifting his jaw into all manner of shapes. 

“Someone say something,” he spoke to no one in particular. 

“You just did,” Andromache stated.

“Ha HA!” Nicolò laughed with joy. 

“Yes?” Yusuf asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Nicolò nodded. 

“ _Alhamdulillah_ ,” Yusuf exclaimed in gratitude. 

Before they had a split second to embrace, before Yusuf could berate the man, Andromache had crossed the room and beat him to the punch. Literally. 

She gave Nicolò a swift but loving smack on the side of his head. Both men turned to look at her sharply.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” She said, fiercely before stalking out of the room. 

Nicolo turned to look at Yusuf, who only shrugged.

“You heard the boss.”


	4. December 1500, Genoa (Natale)

Nicolò di Genova sat by the window, watching the snow fall down over his home town. It was still difficult to fathom that he was even here. He had avoided this city for so long, but with a helpful push from his family of immortals, he now felt fortunate and gratified to have spent the day here, doing what they do best, putting some good into the world. 

In the bed beside his chair, Yusuf turned over, reaching out to his left and pulling Nicolò’s pillow into his arms. He shivered slightly. The pillow did not provide him the warmth he’d been seeking. Nicolò pulled an extra blanket up over his love, tucking it gently to help him stay warm. It was not their first time in a colder climate. Yusuf loved to see the snow. He said it was magical. But he was still always mildly surprised at how how cold freezing really felt. 

Nicolò knew he could have more effectively warmed the man by curling up beside him, but doing so would make it difficult to continue watching him sleep, which he loved. Seeing his chest slowly rise and fall, watching for the infinitesimal sway of the hairs around his mouth as his breath rushed past, the quick and stirring contractions of the muscles around his eyes when he dreamed. Yes, Nicolò loved to watch Yusuf sleep, but he loved to watch Yusuf do anything, really. Presently, he was feeling a particularly strong resurgence of love for him.

Was it the present, he wondered? Or was it his superpower pushing his affection into overload? In the end, it didn’t really matter. That’s what was so great about his superpower. 

Not the immortality. Not the healing powers. No, Nicolò had another superpower. He could travel in time, more or less. That’s what it always felt like, anyway. It was not his body, but his mind and his heart. He could exist simultaneously in several moments at once, the present, and the past, and even the future. The power had only gotten strong the older he became, the more wonderful moments he could recall. 

Once, Nicolò tried to explain this phenomenon to Yusuf, when he’d caught him staring intensely at him for several moments. He knew he hadn’t explained it well, but Yusuf had shrugged it off with an appreciative smile. It was always difficult for Nicolò to fully explain things. Even expressing his love for Yusuf always seemed so pale in comparison to Yusuf’s beautiful words. He found comfort in the fact that at least Yusuf could perceive how much Nicolò loved him simply from his shameless stare. This is why he had long since given up attempting to hide it.

Still, it was slightly less awkward to time travel when Yusuf was asleep. 

Nicolò was here, with Yusuf gazing at him, loving him dearly, while simultaneously reliving moments from hours earlier, from hundreds of years ago, from the future he imagined with him, and from last week in their home in Mahdia.

_Nicolò held the letter in his hands. He was finishing up reading it for the third time, without saying anything. Yusuf just watched him._

_It was written in Quynh’s hand. She explained that they had just finished helping a peasant militia in Hemmingstedt to defeat the Dutch army. While they travelled south, fully intending to make Mahdia their destination, they were detracted in Piedmont by rumors of the Mount of Piety. Quynh explained that it was a new bank operating as a pawnbroker for the poor, providing loans without high interest. It was a cause they felt worth looking into, and upon arrival in Genoa, the location of the bank, were pleased to learn it was legitimate and upstanding. They made a few large donations to the bank, which relied on the charity of the wealthy. They knew Nicolò and Yusuf had established a profitable fishing trade when they were lucky enough to stay put every now and then, and would likely jump at the chance to put their profits to good use. And they’d assumed Nicolò would jump at the opportunity to return home again._

_Nicolò sighed at the letter. Jumping at the opportunity was not exactly how Nicolò had reacted to the idea._

_“Why don’t you want to go home?” Yusuf had asked him._

_“I never said I didn’t,” Nicolò responded quietly._

_“You have never had to.” Yusuf’s eyes bore into his. After nearly four hundred years together, Yusuf had learned to stop suggesting they visit Genoa. Any time he’d brought it up, Nicolò would respond with some reason as to why it wasn’t the right time. There were people who needed them in France. It was warmer in Crete. The plague was running rampant. They were just so happy in Mahdia._

_But Yusuf knew better than to believe the excuses, and Nicolò knew it. He had never pushed the issue, until that day._

_“It is not home. It is only where I am from,” Nicolò had argued._

_“Nico, you don’t need to be afraid of your past,” Yusuf responded gently._

Back in the chilly room, snow coming down out the window, Nicolò considered this. He’d spend most of his long life with Yusuf trying to forget who he was before they’d met. Yusuf spent that same life, mostly without words, reminding Nicolò he was so much more than that past.

_“I would not be your friend if you were the same unfeeling invader you once tried to be,” Yusuf had said all those years ago._

_Tried to be._ It was an exasperatingly merciful choice of words.   
  
But he’d allowed the man to persuade him. _Don’t be afraid of your past._  
  
It was not easy. He was overwhelmed from the moment he got off the boat. But true to their word Andromache and Quynh had found a worthy way to put some good into the world, and they were all four incredibly pleased to learn there was no danger of death or mutilation for once. 

_They had visited the Mount of Piety, presented their generous donation, and spent the rest of the day exploring the city. Nicolò was struck by how much it had changed and how much was still the same. Once in a while he had become lost in thought, lost in memories he did not wish to relive. Instinctively, Yusuf seemed to know just the right way to bring him back to the present, a squeeze to the hand, a reassuring wink. Once in a while memories were not so bad, and Yusuf’s instincts did not steer him wrong there either._

_They’d been walking through the market. Yusuf pulling his cloak tighter around him to, stepped up behind Nicolò who was standing at the table of a luthier, admiring an antique chitarra displayed prominently._

_“Do you play?” The luthier was asking him._

_“No,” Nicolò responded, gently hovering his hand over the polished wood._

_Yusuf had watched him for a prolonged moment, allowing him to cast his eyes over the shape of the instrument, twitch his fingers across the strings as muscle memory kicked into gear. “Do you?” He pressed Nicolò._

_“I learned a very little long ago,” Nicolò admitted, and lowered his voice in explanation, “before I joined the Balestrai.”_

_“How much for it?” Yusuf asked the merchant, who replied it cost twenty florin._

_“No,” Nicolò protested as Yusuf reached into his satchel for the coins._

_“Yes,” he responded simply, and handed the money to the luthier._

_“This is unnecessary,” Nicolò insisted._

_“I disagree,” Yusuf said as the luthier handed him the chitarra. He turned to Nicolò. “Would you like to know why?”_

_Nicolò did not respond. He looked expectantly at Yusuf, knowing full well he was going hear the explanation regardless._

_“Because you deserve a reason to think about Genoa and smile,” he said, and handed Nicolò the chitarra._

_Nicolò took the instrument in his hands and held it loosely to his body. His fingers danced along the bridge. He gave the A string a gentle pluck, and his lips quirked into a smile._

_“Buon Natale, Nico,” Yusuf said._

He was right of course. Nicolò knew that he would have this memory for the rest of his existence now, and it would surely always be remembered fondly. And now, because of this day here with his family, because of these moments here with Yusuf, Genoa was home again.

It was astounding. Even now after four hundred years, even with the man lying so close, he could still yearn for him, pine for him. The warmth in his heart overflowed. He wanted so badly to wake him. 

But then to do what? Nicolò pondered realistically. To blunder over his words again. To stare shamelessly at him some more? 

Yusuf stirred to the sounds of strings being strummed. Nicolò sat by the window nearby, gently fingering the chitarra, and watched the snow. A sweet melody reverberated quietly through the room. Yusuf sat up slowly, not wishing to disturb him, and marveled at what he was watching. 

_How could he do this, Yusuf wondered? How could he still find ways to surprise him after centuries together?_

Nicolò stopped. He turned his head to meet Yusuf’s eyes.

“You have not played this for four hundred years?” Yusuf asked in amazement. 

“Is it bad?” Nicolò asked sincerely. 

“Bad?” Yusuf replied incredulously, scooting to the edge of the bed. “No, it is not bad. Nicolò, you can really play.”

A slow, seductive smile danced across Nicolò lips and he recommenced his tune. 

“It is pleasing to you?”

Yusuf returned the smile. “A bit,” he admitted. 

“I can teach you if you like,” Nicolò suggested. The melody emitting from his fingertips felt ancient and intimate. 

“No, this…” Yusuf gestured to the instrument, “this is yours.” This being this talent. This expression. This would be Nicolò’s. 

Nicolò’s attention drew back to the chitarra in his hands. He wasn’t entirely sure how he remembered the tunes so well, but he suspected it was partly because of his superpower. He was traveling back in time to the days when he was still learning, when the chitarra was his sole source of comfort and happiness. And at the same time he was traveling to the future, to all the times he could now woo his Yusuf with music, the same way Yusuf could woo him with words. 

Minutes passed into minutes, and Nicolò continued to play for a captivated Yusuf. He hummed lightly along with the tune, lyrics eluding him, but it was no matter. The lyrics were inconsequential. 

For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, and Nicolò’s fingers went quite abruptly still. 

“Please don’t stop,” Yusuf pleaded.

Nicolò placed his instrument down gently and gazed back at his love. 

“I must stop,” he confessed. 

Yusuf’s gaze had dragged him suddenly back to the present. His time traveling power had ceased to work. There was only here and only now. And Nicolò could not allow another second to pass in which he wasn’t holding the man in his arms. The chitarra would have to wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea of “time travel” in the mind is a concept I got from Amy Poehler in her autobiography, and I always found it very sweet and beautiful. She explained, that yes you can time travel to the past by remembering an important moment, but you can also connect yourself to your future by taking a beat in the present, either really taking a moment in to be sure you can be sure to enjoy the memory again someday, or even imagining a wish as if it really will happen, and then experiencing it as time travel if that wish comes true. I really loved that concept.


	5. Shaizar: September, 1111 (Destati)

Nicolò sat beside Yusuf on the ground, waiting patiently for the man to awaken. His hand gently glided over the battered and tarnished skin of Yusuf’s arm, wiping away the caked clumps of dirt and blood. He felt a light gust of cool air brush past him, responding by pulling Yusuf’s collar a little tighter around his neck. 

The moments stretched on and Yusuf remained still. Nicolò waited. 

“Yusuf,” he whispered, as he pushed the hair away from his eyes. “Destati, Tesoro.” 

He took Yusuf’s cold and lifeless hand in his own and held it to his mouth, breathing gently to keep him warm. As he rubbed the hand between both of his, he caught the quickest flicker of Yusuf’s eyelids and felt his own pulse finally slow. He let out a long, controlled sigh of relief. 

Yusuf’s eyes slowly opened and blinked into focus as they met Nicolò’s.

“ _Ciau, Shamsi_.” Nicolò smiled, unconsciously placing his hand over Yusuf’s heart to feel it beat against his palm.

“ _Ciau, Amorino_ ,” Yusuf replied, placing his hand over Nicolò’s. “What happened?”

“You died,” Nicolò informed him nonchalantly. 

Yusuf groaned as he sat himself up with great pain and effort. He took in his surroundings. They were in a field outside the fortress of Shaizar, close enough to hear the battle waging nearby, but far enough away that the two of them were very much alone. 

“Was I… thrown from a horse?” Yusuf asked, pressing his hands to his ribs and wincing slightly. 

“To start,” Nicolò said simply, taking Yusuf’s hands and assisting him to his feet. 

“And then trampled by another,” Yusuf finished recounting as the memories slowly returned to him. His horse had been startled by a nest of vipers. He had tried to soothe the creature, but his efforts were met with erratic and spastic leaps and twists. He’d heard more than felt something snap in his spine when he hit the ground, and next he recalled the coming dread as the vibrations in the ground beneath him grew stronger and stronger. He’d snapped his eyes shut just before a great force fell upon his chest. 

Nicolò did not meet his eyes. He was rubbing his hands together to clear them of dirt and working to gather their scattered effects. 

“That could not have been pretty,” Yusuf spoke with quiet unease, keeping his eyes on his Nico. 

“You’re concerned about how you look as you die a violent death?” Nicolò asked as he stuffed some clothing back into his pack, his tone veiled with a forced playful sarcasm that Yusuf could see right through. 

He’d closed the space between them and took Nicolò’s hand gently in his own. 

“I’m concerned about how you are,” he said compassionately, drawing Nicolò’s gaze to meet him. 

Nicolò’s expression revealed nothing, which was often more telling to Yusuf than any words or facial quirks would ever need to be. 

“Well, you know how I am,” Nicolò responded simply. 

With one gentle and fluid motion, Yusuf pulled him into his arms, holding him close to his chest in a consoling hug. 

“Yes, I do,” he admitted. They’d both endured it so many times before. He could feel Nicolò surrender into his embrace, resting his nose against Yusuf’s shoulder, and gently pressing his hands to his back, clearly taking care not to be too forceful after what he had just witnessed. Yusuf placed his own hand to the back of Nicolò’s head and planted a loving kiss to his temple. 

“But here I am, Habibi,” he assured him. “I will always come back to you.”

Nicolò slowly but purposefully withdrew himself from Yusuf’s arms and took in a deep, chest raising breath before letting it out. He said nothing; he only gave Yusuf a long, meaningful stare. 

“Hm.” Yusuf nodded in response. The meaning was clear. It had been on his mind a lot lately too. They’d not broached the topic with one another since learning of Lykon’s fate. But it was only natural, if you can call such things natural, that the next time one of them died would force the issue. 

“Yes,” he said to Nicolò. “I should not promise such things, should I?”

“No one can promise their beloved to live forever,” Nicolò said wisely, but the pain of it all could not be concealed from Yusuf.

“No.”

Yusuf was no stranger to losing people he loved. First his father. Many friends in his garrison. His mother. It was a fact of life and a fact of love. It was the deal you make when you give your heart away, knowing that one day, however long away it may be, one would have to leave the other and take his heart with him. 

Nicolò, on the other hand, had never planned on having a beloved other than God. He supposed it had to be too good to be true that when he did ultimately decide to love someone with all of his being that by some miracle he would never have to worry about losing him. He did not feel betrayed by Quynh and Andromache that they had kept it from them for so long. When they’d finally told the story of Lykon, and what his death meant to all of them, he was grateful that they’d waited until they did. What a privilege those first blissful years had been.

 _All things die_ , he remembered thinking to himself. And there was a peace in that. And an amplified purpose to the gift they’d been given. Not just to make the world a better place, but to be sure to love Yusuf as much as he could, in as many ways as he could, for as long as he could. 

Still.

It would always be agony to think about how it would all end, and when that day would come. 

“I can promise you one thing, Nico,” Yusuf was saying, drawing Nicolò out of his reverie. “As long as you are by my side, I will always have something to live for. I will always have a reason to come back. And if you call for me, I will do my damnedest to do so.”

“Just call for you,” Nicolò repeated, his tone gently chiding Yusuf for being such an incurable romantic. 

“Oh yes,” Yusuf nodded seriously. “I heard you just now.”

Nicolò’s eyebrows climbed in query.

“Yusuf,” his lover whispered playfully. “ _Destati, Tesoro_.”

Nicolò finally cracked his sheepish smile, his eyes dancing, reflecting the setting sun.

“Don’t be bashful; it worked,” Yusuf chuckled and rested his forehead head momentarily against the other man’s. He took the pack from Nicolo’s hands, hoisted it over his shoulder and started walking towards the city. 

“Will you call for me too?” Nicolò asked, following behind him.

Yusuf turned and reached out for Nicolò so they could walk hand in hand. 

“I will never stop calling for you.”


	6. May 1856 CE, Utah (Grief)

There was a dripping coming from somewhere nearby. Or it could have been a crashing; he honestly wasn’t sure. His senses were a jumbled mess, mainly his vestibular sense. Was he on a boat? The damp plank of wood pressed up against his face supported this theory. Except…

_Weren’t we in Utah territory?_

Yusuf opened his left eye slowly. The right one lagged behind. The flesh around it no longer resembled a piece of raw meat, but it remembered being so. Slowly, and carefully, or abruptly and clumsily, however his muscles would allow him to, he sat himself up and leaned back against a concrete wall. 

Wherever he was, it was dark, and dank, and smelly, and he seemed to be alone. That was not good. A few labored blinks later the room came into better focus. He wasn’t alone. _Hamd_ _Allah_ , not only was he not alone, he was in the company of the most important person in the world. Nicolò stood across the room from him, a few short strides away, gripping the iron bars that separated them. 

“Nicky…” Yusuf spoke slowly, mild reproach in his tone. “What are you doing in jail?”

“Ah, Yusuf,” Nicolò spoke with sympathetic exasperation, “for once it is not me who is in jail.”

“You’re saying I’m in jail?” He squinted one eye at him and shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like me.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you sober,” Nicolò agreed. 

“I am sober,” Yusuf said. He stood slowly.

“Whatever you say, Yusuf,” Nicolò answered, watching him wobble towards him with trepidation.

“Joe, Nicky, remember?” He stumbled as he finally reached the bars and gripped them just above Nicky’s hands.

“Whatever you say, Joe,” Nicky placated him. He caressed Joe’s fingers lightly with his thumbs. His sotted eyes were closed and he swayed slightly. When he opened them, he looked at Nicky in mild shame. 

“So… Booker and I went to the saloon…” He admitted. 

“He told us all about it,” Nicky said gently. A short while earlier, Booker had burst through the door of his and Andy’s shared room, a next door from Joe and Nicky’s, in a frantic diatribe about how Joe had been arrested after a brawl in the saloon. Joe being Joe didn’t approve of the way a particular patron was speaking to and handling one of the painted ladies of the saloon. Nicky could see the scene clearly in his mind’s eye as Booker described how gentle entreaty turned to argument, and quickly escalated to violence. He’d participated in a few occasions exactly like this one with him, after all. 

Nicky placed his hands protectively over Joe’s on the bars, as he swayed again. “Sit down please, _Amore_ ,” he begged. 

“Yeah…”

Nicky had meant for Joe to return to the bench across the room, but instead he unceremoniously collapsed down to the ground where they stood. 

“Ah… _Dio Mio_ ,” Nicky sighed, and crouched down in front of his lover, who was now leaning his head onto the bars so that his face squished pathetically between two of them. “We’ve found another bad influence for you.”

In all the years they had been together, Nicolò could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Yusuf drunk. The man didn’t make a habit of drinking much at all, and when he did it was only sips of wine and beer here and there. Each time it had ever gotten this bad, it was always hard alcohol, and it had always been because of Quynh and her snake whiskey. And then there had been one time decades after losing her, when he’d found a bottle of the stuff stored in one of their safe houses, enough of a catalyst to cause him to drink away the pain of what that had dredged up. 

Knowing Booker, and considering where they were, a whiskey of some sort was likely the culprit again tonight. 

“You know I won’t make a habit of it,” Joe said, big brown eyes glistening a promise in his direction.

“I do,” Nicky said, smiling lightly at him. He wasn’t angry. He actually found it amusing that the man could abstain from such strong spirits for these long periods of time, and then somehow always believe he could miraculously hold his drink hundreds of years later, despite that he never could before.

Joe took in a slow steadying breath and nodded. His Nicolò never lost faith in him, even when he was reckless. It occurred to him, however, Nicky had been here several minutes, and Yusuf was still behind these bars. 

“Do I live here now?” He asked, playfully.

Nicky chuckled lightly. 

“No, _Caro_ ,” he said and pulled a small wad of paper notes from his pocket. “I have your bail right here.”

Joe cocked one curious eyebrow. “Do I have to earn it?”

Nicky stifled a grin. He was tragically cute when he was like this. 

“No. Andy’s out front arguing with the Sherrif, because she doesn’t think there should be a bail.”

“Why?”

“I already said,” Nicky explained patiently, “because Booker told us all about what happened. And because I don’t see anyone else in here with you.”

“It’s ‘cause he’s the only one who used some kind of Chinese heeby jeeby fighting.”

Nicky brought himself back to his feet and turned to the gruff voice that had just interrupted them. A tall and broad man with a handlebar mustache and bucket hat stood beside Andromache, a shiny gold star flashing from his chest, brass keys clanging in his hand. 

“So it’s his fault he is well equipped at defending himself?” Nicky directed his question at the Sherrif. 

“Do you want to see the damage he did?” The man asked, as he unlocked the door and pulled it open. 

“No, I can guess,” Nicky said coldly. Joe was extremely proficient in several variations of martial arts, both armed and not. He was proud of his man for defending himself so well with the tools at his disposal. Joe would have expected nothing less from him. 

Nicky knelt down on Joe’s left side while Andy flanked his right, and they worked together to lift him back to his feet. “Come on, Joe, it’s time to go now.”

“Hey boss,” Joe said joyfully.

“Hey Joe.” She smirked at him.

“A pleasant evening to you, Sherrif,” Joe said cheerfully as they marched past him. “Thank you for the comfortable amenities.”

With effort, they made their way out of the jail as a threesome. Joe leaned heavily into Nicky, burying his face into the scruff of his neck, nuzzling just once before Nicky rebuked him. 

“Not here, _Tato_ ,” he said. “ _Fermati_.”

“Not here,” he winked at Nicky. “Gotcha.” 

~~~~~~~~

“Sit down here,” Nicky said as he and Andy plopped him down into the sofa. He dragged Nicky down with him and pulled him into a bear hug. 

“ _Basta_ ,” Nicky said again, laboriously extracting himself from Joe’s embrace. He pushed Joe on the chest, effectively sending him into a semi reclined position. 

“Nicky thinks I’m still drunk,” Joe explained to Andy and Booker, clearly anticipating one of them to jump at his defense. 

“You are still drunk,” Andy said bluntly, quashing that hope immediately. Joe pouted.

“You are, Joe,” Nicky insisted kindly. 

Joe’s pout quickly melted into a smile. 

“I really love it when you call me Joe.

“ _Wallahi_ , _Tato_ , you love it when I call you anything.” Nicky stood up and pulled Joe’s feet up onto the couch so that he was fully laid out now. 

“ _Madre di Dio_ , I do,” Joe said, bringing a hand to his tired head to keep the room from spinning. 

Booker approached Joe tentatively as Nicky crossed the room to fill a glass of water from a pitcher. “Sorry I got you thrown in jail, Joe,” he said. 

“Trust me Booker,” Nicky said, stepping back to the couch. “Yusuf got himself thrown in jail.”

“Joe…”

“Yes, Joe. Drink this, please.”

Joe took the glass from Nicky and smirked at him, flirtatiously. 

“Anything for you, _Piccolò_.”

“No,” Nicky frowned, shaking his head. “We talked about that one.”

Joe took a moment to swallow the gulp of water in his mouth before looking at Nicky and speaking very seriously. 

“Sorry, _Ya Amar, Ya Rouhi, Habib Albi._ ”

Nicky once again stifled a grin, but his pink cheeks betrayed him.   
  
“I really didn’t think he’d be such a lightweight,” Booker insisted. 

Nicky nodded. “It’s endearing, isn’t it?”

Andy and Booker exchanged a look, communicating their agreement that endearing was not exactly how they’d describe it, and that Nicky could only see Yusuf through the haze of love. 

“Come, _Caro_ ,” Nicky said, pulling Joe back up, “let’s get you to bed.”

“ _Hamd Allah_ ,” Joe exclaimed.

Andy chuckled as she and Booker watched the two lovers disappear into the room next door. She turned to Booker and spoke seriously.

“Next time you drink with me.”

Joe crashed onto the bed and spoke to the air above him while Nicky pulled a blanket over him. 

“I am going to give you so much pleasure,” he said, eyes closed, head heavy on the pillow, while Nicky carefully removed his shoes. “I’m going to make your wildest fantasies come true.”

“You’re going to let me sleep?”

Joe cracked open one eye and bore it into Nicky.

“Ah, Nicolò.”

“I’m teasing, _Tesoro_ ,” Nicky insisted, lying down on Joe’s left side. 

“I know,” Joe said sadly. “But I’m useless anyway.”

Nicky lifted the blanket slightly and cast his eyes down to just below Joe’s midsection, which was clearly not stirring. 

“ _Aimè_ ,” Nicky lamented playfully. 

“Now you’re mocking me.”

“I would never.” He kissed Joe on the forehead and pulled the blanket tighter around him. They lay together silently for a few long moments. Nicky gently stroked Yusuf’s hand, anticipating that he would be overcome by sleep any moment. 

Yusuf al Kaysani remained awake though. His beautiful brown eyes were heavy, but they did not close. 

“What is it, _amore mio_?”

“He reminds me of her sometimes,” Yusuf said quietly. 

Nicky did not need to ask for clarification. 

“ _Si_ ,” he said. “Me too.”

“I think that’s why Andy has taken to him so strongly.”

Nicky nodded. “ _Certo_.”

“He said… he doesn’t dream of her anymore.”

Nicky stayed quiet for a long moment. It had been difficult to learn decades back when they’d first met Booker the horrifying truth that after centuries Quynh was still trapped in the endless cycle of drowning and resurrecting, God knew where. Nicky had prayed many times for the end of her suffering, whether it be someone finally finding her somehow, or the more likely scenario that the final death would find her at last. 

“Then she is finally at peace,” he said wisely, though the sadness in his voice could not be concealed. Joe’s heavy eyes overflowed with emotion, and Nicky’s heart broke. He wiped the tears away with his thumb and held the man as close to him as he could.

“Oh Yusuf,” he said lovingly, “you and your big heart.”  
  
Joe grasped Nicky’s right arm with both of his and buried his face in his chest. 

“Sleep now, _amore mio_ ,” Nicky whispered. 

He made to turn himself around so that they could assume their regular sleeping positions, but Joe doubled down on his grasp.

“Stay with me?” He begged.

Nicolò was certain to have Yusuf’s eyes locked inside his own before he spoke, “ _Per sempre._ ” 

Joe’s eyes surrendered and he fell asleep in Nicky’s arms.


	7. July 1999 CE, Perth (Anniversary)

The pub was practically bursting at the seems as the temperature bottomed out at -2 degrees C outside, remarkably cold for the city. Nicky sat at the corner of the bar reading a postcard from Bermuda, where Booker was sojourning after his and Andy’s most recent mission in D.C.. Joe, adjacent to him, was watching the replay of the Women’s World Cup game between the US and China, which he’d missed earlier that week during his and Nicky’s mission in the bush.

Their flight to Rome was due to leave at 5:10 the next morning, and Nicky had argued they should make it an early night, but Joe insisted they get out of the hotel and enjoy the city before they left. But as it was too cold to do much other than drink, they planted themselves at the bar in the Sail and Anchor. 

“How is he?” Joe asked when the game cut to commercial. 

“He seems good,” Nicky replied, folding the postcard between the pages of his book and pushing it aside. “He and Andy are going to meet us at the airport tomorrow night.” 

Nicky sipped his Old Fashioned, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. It was getting long. He would have to ask Joe to trim it soon. 

“Get in there, Mia,” Joe shouted at the TV. The entire pub reacted with him in disappointed “oooohs.” 

“This is unreal,” he remarked with a grin. He didn’t have any stakes in who won, but it was still entertaining him to watch neither team manage a goal, well into the fourth period. Nicky already knew the outcome of the game, as Booker had rubbed it in his face in his postcard. He owed the man three hundred thousand lire. 

Beyond Joe, Nicky could see a woman in a bright red sweater eyeing him with interest. Joe only had eyes for the game, and Nicky had to smile.

“Aaah,” Joe sighed with the crowd again, leaning into the back of the barstool. He glanced briefly at Nicky, catching the quirk of his lips and did a double take back at him. 

“What’s funny?” He asked.

Nicky shook his head.

“Just how after nine hundred years the world has changed so much in so many ways,” he said, picking up his glass, “and how some things have not changed in the slightest.”

“Such as?” Joe asked curiously, as Nicky finished his drink. 

“How women are constantly trying to catch your eye,” Nicky smiled smugly. “And how you are completely oblivious to it.”

Joe crossed his arms and smirked at his lover. He turned his head nonchalantly to the side, at the people nearest them. He gave his attention back to the man at his side. 

“…I’m not oblivious to it, Nicky,” he explained simply. “You are the one who is oblivious.”

“Me?”

“Me?” Joe mocked, pressing a playfully scandalized hand to his chest. “Wholesome, unassuming Father Nicolò di Genova?”

Joe turned back and slyly nodded to the woman. Nicky followed his gaze and shook his head. 

“She’s looking at you!” He insisted. 

“Nope,” Joe maintained. “The dirty blonde in the corner has me… and the one with the nose ring in the booth by the bathroom.”

Nicky cast his eyes around the room, ascertaining Joe’s observations. 

“But the one in the red sweater only has eyes for you, Nicky,” he asserted, pausing to take a sip from his own beverage. “As does the older gentleman across the bar… and the cute bartender with the pixie cut.”

Nicky glanced at the others and turned back to Joe, completely bewildered that he seemed to be right. Joe smiled smugly this time. 

“Another drink, love?” The bartender was asking Nicky.

He turned to her, slightly flabbergasted before nodding, “Yes, thank you.”

“And you?” She asked Joe.

“I am good, thanks,” he answered. 

A few minutes passed and neither man said anything. Joe brought his attention back to the game to let Nicky stew on their exchange. When the bartender returned with his fresh drink, she placed it in front of him and winked subtly.

“It’s on me.”

After she was gone, Joe reached for Nicky’s drink swirled it in his hand. 

“Do you think I don’t know who’s looking at you, Habibi?” He took an unoffered sip of the drink, grimaced in disgust and placed it back in front of Nicky. “I’ve been watching them for nine hundred years. You, my love, are the one who has been oblivious. Do you remember the first night at the caravansary in Egypt?”

Still frowning from these new revelations, Nicky lowered his eyebrows even more, trying to think back to that long ago. 

“We were only at the caravansary one night,” he contested. 

“No,” Joe chuckled. “We were there three nights. The second night was boring and the third night was…”

“Not,” Nicky answered quietly, the traumatic memories coming back to him. 

“Right,” Joe said delicately. “But the first night… don’t you remember, we feasted? We danced.” 

“You made out with the barmaid.” 

“You _do_ remember it.”

“ _Now_ I do.” 

“Were you jealous?” Joe grinned in spite of himself. 

“Yesofcourse,” Nicky admitted plainly in one breath. 

“Well do you remember the girl _you_ danced with?” Joe asked, probing his memories further.

“The girl you pushed into my arms,” Nicky said, more and more of the night coming back to him. 

“Yes, that one,” Joe said. He took another sip of his drink. “She was the first of many, many young girls whose hearts were left in the wake of Nicolò di Genova.”

Nicky stared at his glass, sheepishly. 

“I wasn’t oblivious to that…” he admitted. “I was hopelessly in love with _you_ … even if I didn’t know it yet.”

“Aww, Nicky,” Joe closed his eyes briefly and pouted his lips. “That’s so sweet.”

He cast his eyes back to the TV, fully aware of the stare Nicky was boring into him from his side. When he turned back, Nicky raised his eyebrows expectantly.  
  
“I thought you were pretty cute,” he offered with a wink, before turning back to the TV, “for a Frank.”

Nicky couldn’t help but chuckle at that, an unseemly snort escaping through his nose, a snort Joe always found completely beguiling. 

They were interrupted in the next moment by the dirty blonde who had been making eyes at Joe, stepping casually into the space between them to order herself a drink. Joe cast a side eye her way as she turned her back to Nicky and attempted to gain Joe’s full attention. He politely gave her a little grin.

“Cold one out there, isn’t it?” She asked.

“It is,” Joe replied, keeping his eyes on the game. 

“Can I buy you a drink to warm you up?” She asked. 

“I’m good, thank you.” He smiled kindly. 

She ordered a bottled beer when she got the bartender’s attention, and returned to her group with her drink moments later. 

“And you call me the heartbreaker,” Nicky remarked. 

“There’s a foolproof way to let them down easy,” Joe suggested. “To spare her ego.”

“What’s that?” Nicky asked.

Joe was leaning toward him, resting a hand on top of his own. In spite of himself, Nicky leaned as well. As their lips met gently, he couldn’t help but smile, allowing the tongue he so loved to taste to press into his mouth slightly. As they parted, he felt his face grow warmer and something stir beneath his naval. 

“Was that for her ego, or for mine?” He asked. 

“That was because I love you,” Joe responded, his eyes glowing a warmness at Nicky that made him nearly melt. He knew that look. That was the look of a man who had loved him nearly every second he had known him. Since long before he ever said it out loud. And most likely long before he ever admitted it to himself. 

“And it saves from me suffering any more cheesy pick up lines.”

“Have pity on them,” Nicky said with compassion. “It can’t be easy to strike up a conversation with a stranger.”

Nicky had discovered long ago how much he enjoyed people watching, and over the past few decades, it had struck him how complicated courting rituals were becoming. He was glad he would never have to participate in them. 

“What?” He asked Joe, who had been giving him a long, scrutinizing stare. 

“I’ll be right back,” he responded mysteriously, rising from his chair with his jacket in hand, and disappearing out the door into the cold. Nicky watched him with his brows furrowed.

A few moments later, Nicky looked up from the book he’d brought, when he was aware of a presence returning to his side.

“Is this seat taken?” Joe asked with a smirk.

“What?” 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Joe asked in clarification. Nicky just stared at him, saying nothing. Joe seemed to take this as a welcoming response, so he returned to his barstool and pushed his drink away. 

“I’m Joe,” he said, holding his hand out to Nicky.

Nicky quirked a curious eyebrow at him, but smirked ever so slightly. He understood now.

“Nice to meet you, Joe,” he replied, shaking Joe’s hand briefly before returning to his book. 

Joe blinked, but he was not dismayed. 

“And you are?” He persisted. 

“Well, thank you.” Nicky responded, smiling politely into his book. 

“Cold,” Joe said. 

Nicky worked to relax his cheeks, blinking away the amusement. If Joe thought flirting with a stranger was so easy, he was just going to have to prove it. He was going to have to do a lot better than, “is this seat taken.” 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Nicky lifted his gift from the bartender and took a small sip from it. Chagrined, Joe nodded. Right, this was exactly the scenario that failed for the dirty blonde. He would try another tactic. Grimacing, he rolled his neck slowly to the side, and then to the other. He winced. He sighed. Finally Nicky looked up from his book. 

“Sorry…” Joe said. “I just, I think I hurt my neck when I fell for you.”

“Ew.” Nicky smirked. Joe actually chuckled. He stared ahead at the TV for a long moment. One last Hail Mary left in him. 

“So… apart from being beautiful, what do you do for a living?”

Nicky closed his book and looked Joe dead in the eye. 

“I am a sharpshooting mercenary who could kill you with my bear hands,” he smiled smugly. “And yes, my husband was sitting here. I’m hoping he’ll be back any minute.”

“Alright, I can’t do this,” Joe conceded. “Point taken.” 

“It was a valiant effort,” Nicky said kindly, patting his hand.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“No, it was terrible.” 

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Joe returning to the game, Nicky returning to his book. An ad for the nightly news brought Nicky’s attention briefly away from his reading, and he was suddenly struck by the date scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen.

“Do you know what day it is?” He asked quietly. 

“It’s Thursday,” Joe answered nonchalantly. 

“No…” Nicky pressed. “Do you know what day it is?”

July 15, 1999. Exactly 900 years since the day he first met Yusuf al Kaysani. It would be several weeks before he learned his name. Before they learned to trust each other. Months before they grew to care for each other, grew to truly love each other. But this was the fateful day it all began. The day after which life had never been the same again. He turned from the TV to Joe, who was gazing warmly at him again. 

“Yes, Habibi,” he said, softly. “I know what day it is.”

“This is why you insisted on going out tonight?” He asked. 

Joe shrugged. “It is weird?”

“No.” Some might find it strange to mark the day when you first killed your soulmate, but weird was relative for them. Nicky placed his hand back over Joe’s and laced his fingers between his. They sat quietly again for another long moment of time. Once again returning to their own individual pleasures, existing silently side by side. Nicky quirked a smile again.

“I will take this over pick up lines any day.”


End file.
